Collections of Love
by Diaphanous
Summary: SLASH. Variety is the spice of life and of love.
1. Chilly

**Chilly**

_Disclaimer_: Nope, no ownership here.

000

"Sh... Shit!" Desmond Miles cursed under his breath. The assassin-in-training crossed his arms across his chest, shoving his cold, gloved hands beneath his armpits in an effort to warm them. He hissed out a breath and it condensed before his lips into a cloud. His entire body trembled within his heavy parka. Dark chocolate brown eyes glared at his only companion. "Why did you have to pick the one place that didn't have heating?"

Shaun Hastings glared right back at the other man. "Did you for... forget we had to split up with Lu... Lucy and Buh... Becca? This was the closest safe house for us!" he retorted. The strawberry-blond was sitting, his own cold and glove-clad fingers shoved under his arse for warmth. His face was tinted a bright red from the chill of the room; the tip of the archivist' ears were the same shade. "Da... Damnation, feckin' cold..."

"No shit! Gawd, I can feel my balls shrinking back up into my body," Desmond growled. He began to pace. He couldn't believe that Vidic had managed to track them down again so quickly and their group had to split into pairs. So Lucy and Rebecca were god knows where. And where did Shaun take them? Fucking Minot, North Dakota! IN EARLY WINTER! With. No. Heat.

Shit, they were going to die.

"Wha... Whatever!" the Brit snapped. He jumped up. "I'm going to try and fix the damned heater. Don't touch anything!" He flounced off to the basement.

000

"DESMOND!"

Desmond bodily jerked, the back of his head hitting the bottom of the shelf he was crouched under. He cursed a blue streak and scuttled out. "What the fuck?" he growled. The novice assassin gingerly touched the back of his skull and winced. He looked over at his peeved companion. "What now?"

"Heater's a lost cause," Shaun said caustically. His lips were thinned to the point where they appeared merged into a single straight line. "What were you doing?"

"Searching for a goddamned space heater!"

"Did you?"

"Did I what?"

"Find a space heater?"

Desmond glared. "As a matter of fact, yes. I was about to pull it out." Sticking his tongue out at the flustered blond, he stuck his hand into the cupboard he had been rooting through and pulled one out. "And you said not to touch anything," he gloated.

"Shut up."

000

With space heater plugged in, Shaun and Desmond sat in front of it, hugging their knees to their chests and pressing against one another shoulder-to-shoulder. They had shed their parkas and Shaun had found a blanket to lay across their shoulders. The brunet of the duo sighed softly. "When do you think they'll call?" he asked.

"Don't know," Shaun said quietly. "Hopefully before the bloody generator runs out."

"Ha, hopefully." A comfortable silence ensued for a few more moments. "Hey, Shaun?" Desmond queried.

"Yes?"

"Wanna make-out now that we're warm?"

Shaun's lips twitched up into a smile and he wrapped an arm around his lover's waist. "In a minute," he said.

Desmond pressed closer, nuzzling his face into the crook of the other's man's shoulder. "Maybe we'll even have sex. You know, to share body heat and stuff."

"You and your stuff..."

000

**END**


	2. Beyond My Grasp

**Beyond My Grasp**

_**Disclaimer: **__Don't own anything except my... well, nevermind, I don't own shit, boo._

000/000

Dreams filled his nights and screams filled the dreams, splattered crimson in memory. And when he woke, he clutched at the end of his cut-off bicep. Fingers dung into the sensitive flesh. Tears of sorrow gathered in his eyes but did not fall. Loss tasted bittersweet upon his tongue and a cry was lodged in his throat. But he didn't know who he was crying out to, his brother or his former lover. One was dead and the other just as lost amongst the living. Then rage burned bright in his chest. HateSorrowWhy? Give them back, oh God who took them. His arm, his brother, his lover.

Bitter was his heart.

000/000

The pain seemed to be fading, no matter how hard he clung to it. Whispers of saved citizens reached his ears, of a savior clad in white and stained with red. But he didn't want to believe that redemption could be had by the fallen, by the one who cost him so much. He spat words of poison at the one who broke his heart and lost him his arm and brother. Called him a fool, a Novice. He turned a blind eye to the guilt in that golden gaze.

Anger was his last resort.

000/000

How deep was this newest betrayal? How long were they all puppets upon nimble fingers? Who now was to blame? He didn't know. They had all been masterfully played like fools in an English Lord's court, they being jesters for their Master's amusement. This journal was the proof. He had to hurry to follow the one he could at least call friend again! He had to take his men with him, loyal to the Creed. Though he only had one arm, he could still wield a sword and ride a horse. He could still fight. He could still kill.

Desperation hounded the hoofs of his steed.

000/000

Boot-clad feet hurried across the gardens and then skid to a halt. What sorcery was this? This Piece of Eden was not the bounty of God but the devil's fruit instead. He lamented the look of fascination gleaming in familiar golden eyes. Just when he thought that he could regain his lover, he lost him again without a single word. He knew now that there would be no peace in his heart despite any hope he had once had before this.

Despair clouded his spirit.

000/000

Years had passed and the one he loved had returned. But lo', his lover was forever lost now into the arms of an infidel Englishwoman and that blasted Piece of Eden. This woman, this harpy had born his love two sons during their travels eastward. She had no beauty to her, more man than woman. But she had an ability that he did not, the ability to continue his beloved's blood. His heart lay shattered down around his feet. And so he retreated into the bowels of the castle, surrounded by parchment and ink once again. He faked his smiles for all, because it was so difficult to be happy.

Memories were all that remained.

000/000

"_Altaïr, I love you."_

"_I'm sorry Malik, but I can't love you. What we had has been gone a very long time."_

"_I know. Safety and peace, my brother."_

"_Truly, I am sorry."_

"_So am I."_

000/000

END


	3. Late Nights

**Late Nights**

Assassin's Creed AU.

Disclaimer: I don't own anything.

000/000

Malik Al-Sayf paused and looked up from his shuffling feet. "Desmond, what are you doing up?" he wondered. He had just gotten off from third-shift management at the plant and it was eight in the morning.

The younger man, Desmond Miles, raised his gaze from his book. "Can't sleep," he told his lover. "Not without you."

"Desmond..." Malik huffed. "You know that with the regular third-shift manager out sick that I have to fill in for him." Walking over to the couch that his companion was sitting on, he bent over to brush his lips against the bartender's forehead. "Besides, you work late nights too." He tugged the other man up to his feet.

"But I get home at four, which means that I would usually get to snuggle up against you to sleep until you have to go to second-shift." Desmond swayed forward to press his face against the crook of his boyfriend's neck, nuzzling against the warm skin peeking through the shirt collar.

Malik threaded the fingers of his only hand through Desmond's shortly shorn hair. "Come to bed with me then, beloved," he murmured. "We both need sleep."

Desmond let out a sleepy hum and let himself be led into their bedroom. "Malik?" he queried as he was pushed down under the covers of the bed. He sat there, the blankets pulled up on his lap and his fingers curled into the soft fabric.

"Yes?"

"You gonna change first?"

"Of course I am," Malik answered, already unbuttoning his oxford shirt with deft fingers. He shrugged it off, revealing his broad, muscled back. The stark white of the bandages wrapped around his cut-off bicep seemed to glow in the dimly lit room. He looked over his shoulder. "Lay down, Desmond."

"I'm waiting for you," the bartender said stubbornly. He watched with appreciative eyes when his Syrian-American lover shimmied out of his black slacks to reveal equally black boxers. He laughed a little as Malik used his toes to pull off his socks one by one. "Hurry up, Mal. Tired." Desmond pulled back the covers to let the older man slip into bed. Malik reached out to click off the nightstand lamp. They laid down facing one another and Desmond pressed close, wrapping his arms around Malik's waist. His nose pressed against the other man's collarbone. "Sleep now," Desmond murmured, brushing a kiss on the broad chest beneath his lips.

"Sleep well," Malik whispered.

000/000

END


	4. This Is Halloween

**This Is Halloween**

An Assassin's Creed AU

Disclaimer: I don't own Assassin's Creed. If I did, there'd be more sodomy. :XD:

000/000

"Why do I have to wear cat ears again?" Desmond Miles whined, gesturing toward the headband on his hair. He was also dressed in black oxford dress shirt, the two top buttons undone, and a pair of black linen slacks. His feet were shod in black patent leather shoes. The black belt was normal enough except somehow it was being used to hold up a fake cat's tail that matched the black ears on his head.

Shaun Hastings sighed. "Desmond, we have to have costumes. It's the stupid cross company Halloween party," he said, waving around a make-up stick. "Now let me draw some whiskers on your cheeks and blacken the tip of your nose."

"Hell no!" the younger man snapped. "Cat ears and tail are enough! Besides, you have to put on your own costume." Alright, so he was a little gleeful at the fact that the blond Brit had to wear the inflatable Sumo wrestler costume that their fellow secretary, Rebecca, had picked out for him. At least Lucy had picked a relatively simple get-up for Desmond.

"Shut up, you ass!" Shaun puffed out his cheeks in annoyance. "Damn that woman..."

"Whatever, whatever. I'm out of here! See you at the party."

"Desmond, you bastard! Get back here!"

000/000

"A cat, Altaïr? Really?" Office manager Malik Al-Sayf growled, touching the fake ears that his so-called friend had shoved onto his head with his only hand. "Will you force me to wear a cat's tail as well?"

"Why, yes," Ataïr Ibn-La'Ahad answered as he held up a fake tail with a clamp on one end. "See, it'll be attached to the back of your pants." His scarred lips were quirked in a devious smile. It was like he was planning something.

"You novice," Malik sighed. He turned around. "Hurry it up!" He scowled mightily when he felt the tail be attached above his posterior on his black denim jeans. He turned again to face his fellow costumed manager. "You look ridiculous though." He picked at the folded of his tucked in black t-shirt.

Shrugging, the golden eyed man pressed a hand against his chest. "I do not. I feel that I look quite good like this," he said.

"You look like an idiot."

"I look like a Renaissance man."

"You're wearing tight, leather breeches tucked into high boots with an embroidered vest. An embroidered vest, Altaïr. And the sleeves of your shirt! God in heaven, the ends are ruffled!"

"The collar isn't." Altaïr tucked playfully at the open lapels and the leather strings that could be tightened to close them. "I am dashing."

"What you are is an ass."

000/000

Desmond snorted a laugh as he watched Shaun toddle in with his furious scowl on his pale, freckled face. He stood quietly in his dark corner when the blond man was bombarded by laughing females with Rebecca leading the pack. A cup of punch dangled from his hand, his fingers curled around the rim from above the opening. His other arm was wrapped loosely around his stomach. Lazily he gazed around the room and his chocolate brown eyes lit up when he saw his cousin Altaïr enter with his friend Malik. So, the older man had managed to convince the other manager to come and in the exact same costume as Desmond. He grinned and started to walk over, setting his cup down on the closest table he passed.

"Ah, there you are, Desmond," Altaïr greeted.

"Nice bitch boots, cousin," Desmond said back with a grin. He looked over at his cousin's companion. "Hi, Malik."

"Good evening," Malik replied, looking oddly flustered.

"Ah, I see Federico. Excuse me." Without further ado, Altaïr split away from them.

Desmond shook his head. "Nice. Hey, you want a drink?" he asked the one-armed manager. He pointed at the punch bowl. "It's strawberry. Hopefully someone will spike it soon."

"Alright, lead the way."

000/000

The party was finally in full swing and yes, someone had spiked the punch bowl. Desmond and Malik were huddled safely in a corner to avoid the wild dancing, talking quietly to one another. Desmond looked around for a second and did a double take. "Holy shit!" he blurted out, interrupting his companion.

Malik looked up as well, his own dark brown eyes widening in surprise. "Is that Altaïr making out with..." He leaned forward a little and squinted. "With Robert de Sable?"

"Eww..." the younger man groaned. "He has no taste."

"He is Altaïr. Remember when he shoved his tongue down Vieri's throat last year?"

A greenish tinge stained Desmond's face. "Ugh, don't remind me," he said. He looked back over at Malik. "Hey, umm, quick question."

"What?"

"Are you attracted to me?"

Malik sputtered. "What gave you that idea?" he asked, flushing a dull red.

"Because I'm attracted to you," Desmond answered blithely. "And I'm a straight-forward kind of guy so I figured I'd ask if you felt the same."

"Oh. Erm, well... yes, I am."

"Oh good. So I can do this." Desmond leaned forward and pressed his lips against Malik's own. He reached over to set his cup down and plucked away the other's cup to do the same. Opening his mouth a little, he swiped Malik's lower lip with the tip of his tongue, eliciting a gasp. Quickly he slipped in his tongue to deepen the kiss. He could feel the brush of the older man's eyelashes against his face as Malik's eyes fluttered closed. His only hand grasped at the front of Desmond's shirt while Desmond cupped Malik's elbow in one hand while the other pressed against the small of his back to pull him closer.

000/000

"Oooh, I see two kitty-boys making out," Rebecca cooed to Lucy and the disgruntled Shaun.

Lucy fanned herself with a napkin. "They are so lovely together," she said.

"You two are such fag hags," Shaun snarked.

"Hey Shaun, is that Ezio over there?"

"What? Where?" The blond left behind to two women to chase after his Italian crush.

Lucy and Rebecca high-fived each other.

000/000

END


	5. Rainy Day Confession

**Rainy Day Confession**

Disclaimer: I don't own these two. Too bad...

000/000

The sky was falling, water sailing down from heavy clouds. All the world was gray and dreary. The noise of rain falling through the air sounded like the roar of a waterfall. And he stood there with hooded head bowed, deep in the shadows. Watchful eyes that glinted gold peeked out from beneath the cowl. No others walked the soaked pathways. Raindrops felt like needles despite his heavy robes. But he waited calmly without a flinch. His scarred lips quirked in satisfaction when he spotted the one he was seeking scurrying through the rain. The target's shoulders were hunched as if to ward off the prickling drops of water that fell hard from the sky; it was in vain for he was already soaked to his bones. Quickly the hooded man walked off after him, knowing that he would not be spotted through the downpour. Then he began to run, his leg muscles coiling like a spring. His footsteps were muffled by the roar of the pouring rain. With an almost silence clink of metal, he pounced upon the target from behind. A blade hidden in his arm bracer sunk into the vulnerable flesh at the base of the target's skull. He mumbled a prayer for the dead and the blade withdrew in a flash of silver metal.

In a fluid motion, the hooded killer stood up from his crouch atop the corpse. His booted feet took him back into the shadows of a nearby alley. With purpose he strode along the cobblestones, water splashing up in little waves with each step. Finally he knocked on a door and was invited in. He opened it and stepped through. The hood was pushed back, falling down between his shoulder blades.

"Ezio! So good to see you! My, my, you are soaked!" Leonardo Da Vinci, artist and inventor, greeted his old friend with happiness and bemusement. "Come on; let's get you out of those wet clothes. Good thing you leave spare clothing here, yes?"

"Thank you, Leonardo," Ezio drawled. "Sorry for dripping on your floor." The Auditore scion stepped further into the workshop. Briskly he began to remove his weaponry to put on a table that Leo usually reserved for his equipment. "I'll just go change in your spare room?"

"Yes, yes, my friend. Go quickly before you catch cold," the blond artist chirped. "I shall make some tea."

"Grazie amico mio."

000/000

A few moments later found the two friends sitting before the fireplace, sipping tea. Leonardo sighed. "How are you, Ezio?" he asked quietly, his bright blue eyes trained on the younger man.

Ezio shrugged. "I have been better," he answered in the same quiet tone. "It is hard to be back in Florence after all that I've lost."

"Hmm. Ezio?"

"Yes?"

"I..." Leonardo nibbled on his bottom lip, seemingly unaware that his companion was staring at the action. "I have a confession to make." He set down his tea, as did Ezio, and nervously twiddled his fingers. The blond jumped in surprise when a large, warm hand covered the moving digits. He looked up into the other's serious eyes.

"What's wrong? Have I offended you some way?" Ezio asked worriedly.

"NO! I mean, no, you have not offended me! But I... might end up offending you." The artist's breath hitched when Ezio's thumb started to swirl circles on the skin on the top of his hand.

"You could never offend me," the younger Italian rumbled in a deepened voice. He leaned closer, golden eyes staring into blue. "Come, tell me. What is it?" he crooned.

"This!" Leonardo, in a bold move, leaned forward the last few inches between their faces to press his lips against the Auditore's in a chaste kiss. He sighed in relief when the other man started to kiss him back. A strong tongue entered his mouth with the sigh and the kiss deepened. Firm, slightly chapped lips moved against his own and the hand on top of his traced up his right wrist, up his arm, and then grasped the nape of his neck in a gentle grip. Leonardo's own hands were clasping at the lapels of Ezio's shirt. When the younger pulled away from the older, Leo whined at the loss.

"Ah, you beat me to it," Ezio rasped, a grin on his face. His other hand had snuck over to rest on Leonardo's knee.

"You mean that you..."

"Have feelings for you, yes. Ah, Leo, amore mio, I've been wanting to do that for a while."

"Then you are not upset at committing sodomy?"

Ezio smiled so widely that crinkles gathered at the corners of his eyes and a dimple showed itself on his left cheek. "We haven't gotten that far yet," he purred. "But we will soon enough."

"Spero di sì," Leo sighed as he tilted his face up for another kiss. He felt the smile that Ezio had against his lips.

000/000

END

This is my first time writing these two! No smut but I hope it turned out well enough.

What little Italian used:

Grazio, amico mio. - Thanks my friend.

Amore mio. –my love, my beloved

Spero di sì. - I hope so.


End file.
